


Professional

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Lousy Past Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 23:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10449633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: Five times Cecil realizes he has never dated a professional before (and one time all bets are off).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving old fic from 2013 - I actually haven't listened since ep 33, from the looks of things, so everything I post will likely be terribly non-canon-compliant. No comment spoilers, please--I do intend to get caught up!

**1**

"Wait," Carlos said. "You're going in there?"

Fingers turning clumsy, Cecil glanced up from tightening the thigh strap of his holster, stomach suddenly churning. It was on the tip of his tongue to lie, brush the whole thing off as a harmless little outing, only Carlos might actually believe him.

"Into the library," Carlos said doggedly, his arched brows slowly pulling into a frown. "Didn't you tell me there are monsters in there?"

"Monsters? Why would--er, no, I'm pretty sure the librarians would have eaten them by now," Cecil replied, reminding himself to focus. Asking Carlos 'why' generally led to strange and amusing tangents, but there wasn't time for that now. "It's, uh...well, you know we're down two interns at the station, and it's just _really curious_ that no matter how often we burn the library down, it still has the same amount of librarians inside when it reforms itself later in the week--don't you think? There's been talk that maybe they've learned to _burrow,_ " he explained with a helpless shudder, "that there might be vast catacombs underneath the library where the librarians retreat to escape the culling. It's, um...it's my leading story for the show."

Oh, he did not like that frown. Carlos was always a little intense at the best of times, but he had a particular way of frowning when he was turning over every possible solution to a problem he intended to step in and _fix._ Which was delightful most of the time, but Cecil had heard it all before.

 _But Cecil, I have a merit badge in Mortal Peril. But Cecil, you can't turn invisible. But Cecil, you can't even start a fire with your mind. Why don't you let_ me _handle this._

"Huh," Carlos said. "I think we have some night vision goggles back at the lab. Unless you have time for us to set up the air gun? We could do a seismic survey, give you a map of the underground if the normal earthquakes don't interfere too much."

"You're letting me _go?_ " Cecil blurted. He'd been prepared to push back, stand his ground; the abrupt lack of resistance left him floating somewhere between freefall and weightlessness.

Up quirked one of Carlos' brows again, his expression plainly incredulous. "Wha-- _let?_ Uh." Carlos shook his head, hard, and turned to retrieve the sawn-off shotgun Cecil had laid out on his bed with the rest of his journalism things. Cecil couldn't help noticing Carlos handled it with more competence than he would have expected.

Sliding the hall-cleaner into Cecil's converted thigh holster and settling it in tight, Carlos gave him a shrug and a smile. "It's your job," he said, "right?"

The ridiculous noise Cecil made in reply did nothing to establish his professional credentials, he was sure, but Carlos took being hauled in for a toe-curling kiss with good grace. When Cecil let him up for air at last, he didn't move away, just leaned his brow against Cecil's, hands resting comfortably on Cecil's hips.

"So?" Carlos asked, peering at Cecil through his lashes. "Did you want backup, or should I just keep the home fires burning?"

Cecil wondered if there was a limit on how many times one could fall in love instantly and hoped he never reached it.

**2**

Big Rico's was generally a madhouse on Saturdays. Not that it wasn't busy the rest of the week as well, but there was always a certain segment of the population who'd put it off, or had family stop by expecting a home-cooked meal, or who fell through a vortex and didn't fight their way out for days, and then Saturday rolled around with them still on the hook for their mandated weekly slice. There was a constant stream of people darting in, pointing at the hot case and eating right where they stood; those with families to think of often called ahead for a pie to go.

Which wasn't to say that there weren't a few bitterly envious looks being cast at the booth Cecil was sharing with Carlos, but that was probably due as much to the company Cecil was keeping as the fact that they'd found a place to sit at all.

It was almost too loud to talk, but Cecil didn't mind. Just being able to sit down with Carlos was enough for him. He did have the sneaking suspicion that Carlos had chosen Saturday of all days because he was still self-conscious about his eating habits, and that nearly made Cecil cringe in sympathetic mortification. It simply hadn't occurred to him to take the books and gadgets and things _away_ from Carlos when they sat down to eat. Carlos was a scientist; books and gadgets and things were part of that. It was just that Carlos had been conditioned to believe that food in the presence of books and gadgets and things was a necessary evil to be disposed of in as speedy a manner as possible to stave off starvation for another twenty-four hours or until someone chased him down with another sandwich. With only Cecil to concentrate on, half his meal usually went stone cold before he remembered to finish it.

"How do you like the new crust?" Cecil shouted over the din, his words nearly lost as Hiram McDaniels roared through the door. The campaign efforts must be keeping him busy; it was bad form for a mayoral candidate to be too lax about his municipal obligations.

Carlos chewed thoughtfully. Swallowed. Used his _napkin._ Cecil considered crawling under the table and drawing the sigil for the linoleum to swallow him up.

"It's good," Carlos yelled back at last. "Did they change their supplier?"

Cecil was about to answer when he glanced at the door.

"Oh my God!" he yelped, automatically patting himself down for his recorder, a spiral notebook, anything at all. "It's her!"

Carlos frowned. "Her who?"

"Rita Hayworth!" Cecil gushed. "I thought she was just passing through, but then Old Woman Josie pointed her out to me at the Ralphs, only she disappeared before I could go talk to her! I can't believe she's here!"

The woman looking vaguely around as if she thought she'd heard her name was a decade past her prime, looked like she'd been a little _too_ regular a customer of Big Rico's over the course of her life, and also appeared to be Hispanic, but the angel had been firm. That was _definitely_ Rita Hayworth.

"I _have_ to interview her," Cecil announced, prepared to make do with a fistful of napkins and a toothpick dipped in pizza sauce.

"Well, you can't talk to her here," Carlos said, and Cecil...froze.

Oh. He'd forgotten, but he'd heard _that_ one too.

 _Why are you always running off? Can't we even watch a movie or sit down to dinner without you disappearing? If you want to be with me, I need you to be_ with _me._

"Here," Carlos said, pulling out his own digital recorder and his wallet and handing them both over as he got up from the booth. "Offer to buy her a pizza and see if she'll talk to you outside. I'll get us a box for ours. Meet you back at the car?"

Cecil only had time to give his perfect boyfriend a quick, hard kiss before he threw himself into the crowd, eeling and weaving until he reached Rita's side. He was in luck; there were still three people ahead of her in line.

"Hello," he said hopefully, "I hope I'm not being too forward. I'm Cecil, with Night Vale Community Radio. Do I have the honor of speaking with Rita Hayworth?"

"Oh, goodness," Rita said with a gasp, hand flying to her belt and what he'd first taken to be a cell phone. "Is my hologram slipping?"

"Oh! No, no, you still look--well, you don't look a thing like yourself," Cecil assured her, waving his hands. "One of the angels--which of course don't exist--spotted you and told Old Woman Josie, and she pointed you out to me. Anyway, while I'm guessing you must not want much publicity, I was wondering if you might agree to do an interview for the local radio. We're a pretty small station--we just broadcast to Night Vale, really--but I know the town would love it."

"Oh, well...I don't know," she said, chewing her lower lip. "It's been years and years since I've spoken to the press...."

"What if the pizza's on me?" Cecil wheedled, blessing Carlos for his foresight.

Even with the hologram, the Love Goddess still had a billion-dollar smile.

**3**

"Wait," Cecil said. "You're going in there?"

Carlos smiled faintly, though the situation _really_ didn't warrant it. "It's fine," he said.

"Fine? Carlos, there are _monsters_ in there." Admittedly, the monsters were new, as was the gently-meandering path strewn with wildflowers that had been brutally carved through the weeping, terrified trees, leading to a small cottage in the forest's center that appeared to have been constructed entirely of gluten-free confections--but that wasn't the point.

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Under his soles the grass sighed contentedly; a breeze came along and ruffled his hair like a friendly hand. "I, uh...I'm pretty sure the Forest has eaten them by now," he said with an embarrassed cough. Not ten feet away, the nearest trees drew themselves up proudly, giving their leaves a victory rustle. "Anyway, someone has to investigate this mysterious cottage thing before someone gets hurt, and...well, the Forest and I have an understanding."

"Is this your boyfriend, Carlos?" the nearest trees asked in the creaky falsetto of a two-ton English sparrow. "He really is lovely. You're so lucky!"

Carlos flushed but his smile grew fond. "Yes, Forest; this is Cecil. Cecil, this is Forest."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cecil!" the Whispering Forest piped cheerfully. "We've been trying to get Carlos to tell us about you for _ages._ From the first day he came to talk to us, we knew he had someone special, but he just keeps saying it's not professional to discuss his private life on the job. He is such a good scientist!"

"Um...yes. Yes, he is," Cecil said, glancing over to eye Carlos speculatively. He knew for a fact that Carlos had been studying the Whispering Forest longer than they'd been together, but.... "What exactly do you mean by special?"

Carlos cleared his throat, gesturing at the path. "I'm, uh...I'm just going to--"

Cecil grabbed him by the wrist with a smile, halting him in his tracks.

"That's a great question!" the trees said admiringly. "You're so perceptive! Not all of our new friends are," it added with a sigh, limbs drooping. "Some of them stay to talk and then they stay and stay...but it's not much fun talking to yourself. And some people stay a little while, and then they remember they left the cat on or forgot to put the stove outside. Then they rush off in a hurry, and we never see them again. But we knew _you_ had to be something pretty unique, because we've never met anyone like Carlos before. He goes away, but he comes back all the time, and he always makes time to talk to us--isn't he amazing?"

Carlos looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up, but Cecil had made a blood pact with himself to _never_ teach him that sigil, even if he asked. Carlos was the type who'd try it once just to see how it worked, and that never ended well.

"Amazing's a good start," Cecil allowed. The Forest tittered.

Though he'd already made up his mind to ask Carlos if he wanted backup on his trek to the gingertorte house, at least it didn't seem quite so suicidal now.

**4**

Dodging shrieking children, a handful of escaped experiments and a crowd of harried but relieved parents, Cecil nodded and smiled, promising to pass on congratulations and thanks if he ever found his boyfriend in this crush. The Annual Night Vale Science Fair was always well-attended, not just by the citizens, for whom it was mandatory, but also by the Sheriff's Secret Police and the vague yet menacing government agency. Cecil usually watched the competition from the press bunker, emerging only when an extra hand on the fire brigade was necessary, but this year he'd braved the spectacle without six solid feet of reinforced concrete between him and the town's budding geniuses. This year Carlos had been chosen as one of the judges, and Cecil wanted to show his support.

He just wasn't sure he could support _this._

"Hey, Cecil," Steve Carlsberg drawled with a toothy smile, stepping into his path before he could change directions and pretend he hadn't heard. "You know, I didn't think you were here."

"Of course I'm here," Cecil scoffed, glaring down his nose at Steve. He'd had to practice that; Steve probably had half an inch on him. "I attend all municipally mandated events, unlike _some_ people I could mention."

"No, but really," Steve insisted, ignoring Cecil's insinuation. "I was already impressed, but now I'm even _more_ impressed. I know scientists _claim_ to be unbiased, but who knew?"

"Carlos is a consummate professional," Cecil leaned in to hiss in a warning undertone. "He would never let personal feelings get in the way of his judgment."

Steve snorted, but his grin was grudgingly admiring. "I know," he said, a sudden spark of deviltry curling up the edges of his smile. "I like him."

Cecil gaped in horror. "You...you _what?_ You _take that back_ \--" He didn't want to have _anything_ in common with that jerk, and for it to be this--!

Lifting a hand in an insouciant wave, Steve cackled evilly--well, laughed smugly under his breath--as he walked away, leaving Cecil sputtering at his back.

"Was that Steve?" Carlos asked at his shoulder.

" _Carlsberg,_ " Cecil growled through bared teeth. Lovely. Now Carlos was laughing at him too. "Did you really have to pick his daughter for the grand prize?" he asked mournfully.

"A scientist has to be unbiased," Carlos reminded him with a smile. "And she really does have a first-rate mind."

"Takes after her mother," Cecil grumbled, determinedly not looking for one balaclava-clad face in the crowd. Steve might-- _ugh--like_ Carlos for voting as he had in spite of Cecil's opinion of him, but Ellie would be twice as pleased that Carlos hadn't picked her daughter to score points with the Secret Police.

He'd introduce them one day. Maybe.

If they survived the short-circuited doombot charging at them in a cloud of sparks.

**5**

Cecil was no expert on scientific conferences, but judging from Carlos' blandly polite expression, he could only assume they usually involved less shouting.

"Impossible!" Rupert Danforth bellowed again, banging a meaty fist on his knee as if longing for a hardwood table and a large gavel. " _How_ can the moon be affecting our gravity when _it_ orbits _us?_ Your logic is flawed, sir, and I demand satisfaction!"

Resting his hands very gently on the edges of the podium, Carlos neither pinched the bridge of his nose nor sighed, though Cecil could tell he very much wanted to do both. Instead he glued his patient face on tight, ignoring the excited murmurs that swept through the hall. Cecil knew Carlos was worried about making a good impression; scientists had come from all over to attend Night Vale's first interdisciplinary scientific symposium, and though Carlos claimed not to have heard of any of them, he'd had to admit their credentials were quite impressive. Personally Cecil believed Carlos had them all beat, hands down, but Carlos' modesty was perfectly adorable.

Carlos took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right," he said, arching a brow when Professor Danforth growled and flexed his ox-like shoulders. "I'm going to require some assistance."

Cecil shot instantly to his feet, aquiver with the thought of standing as second to his brilliant boyfriend.

The next thing he knew, he'd become part of a bewildered crowd as Carlos herded the entire room next door to the waiting banquet tables, enlisting everyone's help in holding up plates so he could steal a long white tablecloth and nail it to the wall with a set of steak knives. "We'll start from the beginning," Carlos said, dipping a finger into a bowl of cocktail sauce and beginning to sketch a slew of equations across the makeshift whiteboard. "Now, first of all, Earth's gravity field can be expressed like so--"

Within five minutes, the room had gone quiet again, the gathered scientists hanging on Carlos' every word. In fifteen he was getting them _involved,_ leading them to answer their own questions as enlightenment slowly dawned. Awestruck, the murmurs this time were of an entirely different nature, and Cecil beamed with pride as he heard whispers of 'ground-breaking' and 'revolutionary' and 'good gods, we'll have that moon machinery in our grasp in no time.' Only Professor Danforth stood apart, corded arms folded, face hot with shame.

"Brilliant!" the Master of Ceremonies applauded, leading the room in a standing ovation when Carlos finally gave up the floor. Carlos' offer to pay for the tablecloth was met with uproarious laughter--oh, they _loved_ him!--as the cloth in question was whisked away for duplication and dedicated study. "But I do wonder, son--if you knew you were right, why didn't you just fight young Danforth and get it over with?"

Carlos blinked. "Er. The Academy of Sciences insists on non-violent resolutions to academic disputes. Are you...saying the rules are different here?"

"Different?" the old MC sputtered, faded blue eyes opening wide. "Well, goodness, I should say so! Gird yourself in your certainty, son--if your data is just, the sublimity of your facts will be your champion!"

"Right," Carlos said, looking over at Professor Danforth, who was lurking along the wall, furiously sulking, nearly twice his size.

Carlos shrugged out of his coat.

"Cecil," he said, thrusting his suit jacket into Cecil's waiting arms and stalking over to his rival with a determined stride. Danforth sneered when he noticed Carlos coming, stepping away from the wall and drawing himself up to his full height.

The first punch doubled Danforth over with a grunt, and the second sent him crashing back into the wall to slide down it in a heap, his flailing limbs knocking folding chairs flying.

"Cultural differences," Cecil explained to the confused group of scientists gathering on his right.

"Oh, _that's_ good to know," the nearest said with a relieved sigh. "I didn't like to think your man there was a bully, but I was starting to feel sorry for poor Rupert."

Danforth laughed ungrudgingly when he shook the stars from his eyes, even when Carlos' attempt to give him a hand up ended with both of them on the floor. "I bow to your superior force of logic, sir," Danforth boomed out, slinging an arm around Carlos' shoulders as they both clambered to their feet. "Now tell me more about the moon's composition. That ancient machinery isn't going to unearth itself, and the excavation teams will want to be ready."

**+1**

"And today we have Carlos here with us in the studio!" Cecil crowed into the microphone, grinning at the man seated next to him in the sound booth. "Well, all right--he's actually here to study radiation patterns, _not_ to give an interview," he admitted as Carlos shook his head, "but I have several hours to work on him, and maybe he'll come around."

He got a sidelong smile for that and another headshake, but one with infinitesimally less conviction than the first. He resisted the urge to report that immediately; Carlos could be alarmingly stubborn if provoked, and Cecil was learning to pick his battles.

Somehow he hadn't expected having Carlos seated at the same desk doing _science_ to be quite so boring. Eminently polite, Carlos sat without fidgeting or making any excess noise, barely moving at all as he watched the screen of his device. The chirping had been muted this time, and Cecil couldn't really tell what was so fascinating about it, but every once in a while Carlos' brows would twitch and he'd reach for his pen. The pen had been approved specifically for this study to disturb Cecil as little as possible with the sounds of typing or food-paste smells, and though Carlos' fingers kept moving to touch it, he left it sitting primly and silently on the desk instead of fiddling with it to pass the time.

After the first half-hour, a tension Cecil hadn't really been aware of began to drain out of him. He hadn't really thought he'd need to _entertain_ Carlos, not like...well, not like with some of his previous boyfriends. He'd steeled himself to avoid eye-contact, knowing he _would_ smile back if Carlos smiled at him first, whatever the gravity of the news he was reading, but Carlos only looked at him when Cecil himself stared too long. He didn't try to make Cecil laugh, or work at getting him to lose track of his lines, or demand one iota of Cecil's attention. He just...kept his head down, took his near-silent notes, occasionally adjusted a dial or two. It was almost calming having him there, steady and unobtrusive.

He was halfway through Traffic when he forgot himself at last--or perhaps more accurately forgot Carlos. Touching the very tip of his index finger to the microphone's base, Cecil felt his vision open up to the microphone's pull, all of Night Vale unfolding under their unflinching gaze.

He started, snatching his hand away when Carlos leaned abruptly forward, picking up his device to stare at the screen and groping absently for his pen. Long fingers found plastic and sent it spinning; Carlos' pen rolled off the desk and skidded under it when he bent to retrieve it without looking. Sighing faintly, Carlos slid out of his chair, dropped to his knees and peered under the desk.

"Huh," he said.

And then he crawled beneath the desk, leaving Cecil gripping tightly to its edges, afraid to look down. If he looked down and saw Carlos looking back at him--hopeful, _expectant_ \--he didn't know what he'd do. Ignore him? Roll his chair away? Spread his legs and let his pants be opened up and hope for the best? He knew he wouldn't be able to keep quiet or play it cool, and everyone would _know,_ they'd hear it in one shaky word and know exactly what was happening, that he'd gone and dragged the entire town into his bedroom without even asking first. He didn't know _why_ that seemed to be what all his boyfriends wanted-- _I should meet you at the station, come in while you're broadcasting, bend you over the desk and see how long it takes to fuck you quiet_ \--but he'd heard enough variations on the theme whispered into his ear to accept it as fact.

He jumped badly when one of Carlos' hands snaked up beside him to pat around the few inches of the desk top he could reach. Carlos' hand froze when Cecil started, but when Cecil didn't move again, Carlos pointed vaguely and then spread his fingers wide, palm turned up. His fingers wiggled.

Hesitantly, half-certain he was wrong, Cecil put Carlos' notebook into his hand. It immediately retreated.

Long minutes passed. Carlos didn't so much as brush against Cecil's ankles though the space under there had to be cramped. He could just about picture Carlos curled up with his pen and his notebook and his machine and...what in the name of all things unholy was he _doing_ under there?

He could have resorted to the microphone, but he didn't want to set Carlos off again. If he'd known on that first visit more than a year ago that Carlos would be so badly startled by the tools of a journalist's trade, he'd have been far more careful. It was just...a little _awkward_ trying to duck down between segments and peek underneath the--

He sat back up in his chair, segueing automatically into the community calendar while staring blindly ahead. He had _not_ just seen what he'd just seen.

_Friday...Saturday...Sunday._

"And now a message from our sponsors," he said smoothly, punching a button and shoving his chair back the instant the ad spot was rolling.

Cross-legged on the floor, wedged in the corner where the desk met the wall, Carlos sat hunched over in a compact little ball, grinning like a kid. His notebook lay open on the floor, and Carlos was holding a page flat with both hands while Cecil's traitorous microphone, Carlos' pen caught in the loops of its cord, scribbled enthusiastic messages in what looked like fluent Spanish.

Carlos hunched his shoulders contritely when he noticed Cecil's dumbfounded stare. "Oh--sorry--were we disturbing you? I just, uh...well, he grabbed my pen before I could, and I figured you'd have noticed by now if he wasn't supposed to be moving, but, uh--I can wait until after the show if we're being a distraction."

It took all of two seconds to drop to his knees, grab Carlos by the lapels and pull him in for a hard, hungry kiss. Carlos' muffled yelp buzzed against Cecil's lips, but Cecil didn't care, not until Carlos wrenched himself away and gasped, "Cecil--Cecil, the show!"

"Twelve seconds," he said, trusting to the countdown inside his head. It was just enough time for him to plant a gentle kiss in the center of Carlos' brow before he had to scramble back into his chair, taking a deep breath to settle the unexpected flutter in his stomach.

"Uh, Cecil?" Carlos asked, voice floating up through the desk. "The microphone?"

"Try not to be too loud," Cecil replied benevolently.

"Too...huh?"

He cued the bumper music with a smile, ignoring Carlos' brief, startled gasp. Two fingers touched to the microphone's base showed him Carlos staring down at his captured hand as the microphone cord tangled itself in friendly loops around his fingers. Cecil had been teasing of course--the microphone was as much a professional as he was--but Carlos didn't know that. And, not knowing, he still looked the slightest bit intrigued.

"Listeners," Cecil purred through a growing grin, "this just in: apparently I have the best boyfriend in the world."


End file.
